


Some Always Count

by canweallberoyal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babylock, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock Fluff, Kidlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canweallberoyal/pseuds/canweallberoyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry smiled, ran her fingers through her short burgundy hair and asked him a question that made his heart stop. "Have you and Sherlock thought about having kids? You could adopt."</p><p>Of course he had thought about it, who hadn't, but he had given all of those notions up the moment he moved in with Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>But then again he had gotten Sherlock to marry him; maybe convincing him to have kids wouldn't be to hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pouring Tea in a Cup

**Author's Note:**

> I began swirling this concept around in my head in my car while listening to the radio. If there is anything that needs to be fixed let me know, if you have suggestions or comments also let me know, and critique me if you would, but only helpful stuff, please don't be mean.

“One, two, three, _push_. That’s right, Molly, you can do it, just a few more times. I can see a head,” A gray-haired doctor said calmly to Molly Hooper as she lay on the delivery room bed. Pearls of silver sweat beaded on her pale forehead. Her coffee colored eyes shut tight creating wrinkles above her nose. Molly’s muscles tightly contracted as she pushed again, squeezing her long fingers around the hands which had been offered on both sides at the start of her contractions.  


“Here come the shoulders, one more push should do it Molly,” And Molly pushed, the biggest one she had given yet, and she heard a tiny cry and an enormous smile broke out onto her face, and two sighs of relief came from both sides of her bed, and Molly Hooper held the child she had carried within her for the first time.  


“Oh, she is beautiful,” Molly whispered, “she is the most beautiful baby Aunt Molly has ever seen,” She glanced at her two supporters who had now moved to one side of the bed and were staring down at the child as all new parents do. Molly could see pride in their eyes; she could tell they were frightened, but also excited to start this new chapter of their lives.  


“Here,” she offered up the newborn babe to her parents, strong arms engulfing the tiny pink blanket and holding it tightly. Tears gathered in their eyes as they took in every detail about their baby girl, “What are you going to name her?”  


“Evelyn Watson-Holmes,” a deep, resonant voice said.  


“Evelyn _Molly_ Watson-Holmes,” a second voice corrected. “I mean you are the reason we have her. Thank you Molly Hooper.”

**12 months earlier**

John Watson woke up to the sun pouring in the window like one would pour tea into a cup. A long, pale arm was wrapped around his waist and he gently pushed it off, rolling over as he did so. He was now facing a dark haired beauty, and he smiled to himself as his eyes rolled over his husbands’ body. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, but the sun streaming in through the glass shined upon the soft skin. John instinctively ran his fingers across the porcelain stomach of the one and only Sherlock Holmes, still not quite believing he was married to the gorgeous man, although yesterday had been their four month anniversary.  


They hadn’t done anything intimate or romantic the day before. They had gone to Bart’s as usual to check on an experiment Sherlock was working on, before getting a call from Detective-Inspector Lestrade to come to a crime scene by the Thames. It had been a relatively simple case, and of course Sherlock had known who the culprit was and where to find him within an hour. Back at 221B they cuddled on the couch and watched a crime show which Sherlock ruined (“the cook did it obviously, look at the crumb of bread on the floor in the kitchen. That same type of bread was in the victims room.”), and ate take-out from down the street. John had gone to bed around ten and less than two minutes later Sherlock was in their bed stark naked.  


“You're mine John,” Sherlock’s voice had deepened, and was raspy. John took a deep breath and held it. Sherlock began taking off his clothes. “I am in charge tonight,” that gravelly voice said in the dark.  


“What are you doing?” John asked breathless.  


“This is you anniversary gift love.”  


Which was how John’s arse became sore, good sore, but still sore, and why he and his husband were still in bed at that time of day. Sherlock’s eyes flitted open and the sides of his lips twitched in a sleepy smile.  


“Good-morning John,” he said with a yawn.  


“Hello there. I was just admiring how completely delightful you look with the sunlight spilling in on you.” John sat up and flung his legs over the edge of his bed. “I am going to have some coffee, would you like any?” he asked as he pulled his red shorts off of the floor and onto his naked body.  


“No,” Sherlock raked his eyes over his husband, John’s strong back was facing Sherlock as he pulled his night pants on over his shorts, the muscles standing out. Sherlock’s blue eyes focused on the large scar on Johns shoulder and various other small ones down his back. John hated them, but Sherlock knew they were perfect; he had memorized every one of them and their pattern. At 5’ 6” John was half a foot shorter than himself, but he was sturdier. John turned toward Sherlock locking eyes for a split second before striding out of their bedroom. Sherlock rolled out of bed, traveling the few short steps to the connected bathroom and stepped into the shower.  


John sat down in his chair with the paper and his coffee, trying to relax before his husband got out of the shower. Two minutes later the bathroom door opened and white clouds of steam came rolling out. John sighed and kept reading.  


Sherlock called out of the room asking John to check his mobile and see if Molly had text with the time decomposition had started. John leaned over and grabbed the phone off Sherlock’s desk where it had been left in a hurry. One new text, John clicked the open button. _The body you are looking at started decomp. at 9:57 pm. If you need anything else let me know. –Molly H_.  


Sherlock walked in the room completely dressed for the day. John glanced at him, “9:57,” he said.  


Excellent!” Sherlock shouted. He kissed his husband, grabbed his phone and coat and flew out the door. John shook his head, running a hand through his blonde hair. He was glad Sherlock was gone. It gave him time to think.  


Three days ago he had gone to see Harry in rehab. She seemed to be doing better. They had talked for three hours, and towards the end she ran her hands in her burgundy hair, quite like John had just done and asked him a question. It made him think, he had no answer, and he was certainly not going to ask Sherlock about it, he would only roll his eyes and keep on with what he was doing.  


“I’m so happy for you Johnny. Have you and Sherlock thought about kids? You could adopt,” she said smiling at John. John had not stopped thinking about it since. Of course he had wanted kids, growing up he had thought about being a father, a grandfather, having small children running around his feet, laughter in the air. But he had given all of those notions up two years ago when he had become Sherlock’s flat mate. You can’t have kids if you’re in love with your best friend who is married to his work. But he had gotten Sherlock to marry him; maybe convincing him to have kids wouldn’t be that hard.


	2. Coffee with Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not positive where I'm going with this work exactly, although I do have a floppy outline. Just let me know if you think something needs to be changed, or if you have an idea for me, or if you love something, or even if you hate something, feedback it always great! Also, I don't know if I will get another chapter up before Christmas, so if not Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and lots of love!!

Sherlock swept into St. Bart’s Hospital his coat trailing behind him stirring up the dust on the floor. Once in the silver morgue he called for his trusted assistant Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper was an attractive woman. She was short, but then everyone was short compared to him, and she had soft brunet hair which was pulled back into a ponytail at the moment. Her makeup was light, noticeable only to him. Her lively eyes were the color of coffee with cream. She was not tanned, obviously because she worked in a hospital all day. Molly wore a button down shirt the color of light mustard, her pristine, white lab coat unwrinkled over the top and grey slacks. With one glance anyone would know she took pride in her appearance, but Sherlock saw more. Purple bags under covered up by foundation told Sherlock she had stayed up late the night before, most likely watching his experiment. She was agitated, something wasn’t right . . . _Oh_ , he thought, _she did not get the raise she asked for._

“Hello Molly,” Sherlock said. His voice echoed slightly, bumping off of the reflective metals. Thin fingers reached to the blue scarf circling his long pale neck. Slowly they eased the fabric out of its loop and removed the scarf from its place. Molly’s thin pink lips parted into a tired smile. 

“Hello Sherlock, I heard yesterday was your and Johns four month anniversary. Congratulations,” Her voice was small. “Did you do anything special after you left here?” 

Sherlock’s mind flashed an image of John arched writhing with pleasure, his hands on the back of Sherlock’s thighs forcing him to come closer. A slight blush flashed across his face and he quickly shook his head. “We went with Lestrade to a crime scene. Then we ate take-out, neither of us are one for celebrating such little things.” 

The flush of embarrassment did not escape the keen eyes of Molly Hooper. She glanced away, towards the covered body Sherlock had pulled out. “He started decomp at 9:57 exactly. Why did you need to know the exact time?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer. Instead he was sitting in the only chair in the room muttering to himself, “. . . but if the decomp started at . . . what if he . . .” Molly knew the signs, he was in his Mind Palace, and who knew how long that would take him. She slid down onto the green tiled floor, leaning her head against the stainless steel counter. 

∞ 

Molly had met Sherlock when he was twenty-three. D.I. Greg Lestrade introduced them during an investigation about a serial rapist that summer. The moment Molly met the tall, dark sociopath she was cleaning up the latest victim, seventeen year old Olivia Hart. Sherlock paced into the room with an air of superiority. Molly had been intimidated by him, but at the same time she was entranced, who was this majestic man sweeping into her hospital room with such grace? And those eyes, piercing eyes, the color of the ocean, they bore into her soul exposing all of her darkest secrets. 

Molly stepped backwards, closer to Olivia, “Who are you? You aren’t authorized to be in here,” she stuttered. Oh my God but he was one gorgeous man. 

“Sherlock Holmes. And yes I am authorized, aren’t I Lestrade.” 

Molly looked around Sherlock Holmes to the doorway where Detective-Inspector Greg Lestrade was standing. “Sadly yes, but I need you for this one.” Molly had worked with Greg before on a few cases when he had needed a second look at a body, or needed a few stiches after a shootout. She had heard gossip about Sherlock Holmes, a young man whom Greg had taken under his wing as a teenager, but she had never seen nor asked about him. “Molly, Sherlock would like to speak with Olivia for a moment, if that’s alright with her,” he said. Then to Olivia with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry he’s the best we’ve got.” 

Sherlock had spoken with Olivia for ten minutes before he stood, turned, and flew out of the room without so much as a “goodbye” or “nice to meet you.” Greg Lestrade nodded his head at the two young women and took his leave after the strange man. 

Molly was instantly infatuated with the handsome man. He began coming to St. Bart’s more often, and Molly began making up excuses to talk to him. _Do you want a coffee? Why are you cutting off that mans’ hand? What is your favorite song? Oh you don’t listen to music? What about your favorite color? Wait let me guess, red? No. Ok, umm blue? How about purple? Wrong again. Well my favorite color is ocean blue_. Meaningless words, he hardly ever answered her. She wouldn’t give up. 

Year after year this went on, Molly putting herself out there, him bringing her down again. But she would always come back to him; she believed they would be friends one day. Her persistence worked; eventually he became less and less reserved around her, trusting her with tasks he would never trust to anyone else. Sometimes they would go to the break room together, sit down and talk. Well really it was Molly doing all of the talking and Sherlock listening. His gaze intense and his eyes deep blue, and those lips, God those lips; moist, pink, shaped like cupids bow, Molly often imagined them softly pressing against her thin ones. She almost had herself believing that they could be together. 

Then one day a short man wearing a white jumper, stepped into the hospital behind Sherlock, “Molly, this is John Watson, my flat-mate and collogue.” Molly looked at the two men and felt a pain in her heart as if an elephant were stomping on her chest. Sherlock had always respected her personal space, (not that she wanted him to), but today he stood to close to John Watson, and at the same time she could tell it wasn’t close enough for Sherlock. Sherlock watched John’s every movement; he was smiling more, talking more, and explaining all he was doing to John. It had taken years for Molly to earn his trust. How had John Watson earned it in such a short amount of time? 

Molly stuck her small hand out, “Hello, I’m Molly Hooper,” she said indifferently shaking his hand. John smiled at her and shook her hand heartily. 

John came with Sherlock to Bart’s all the time, and Molly learned to love the sweet ex-soldier. When John and Sherlock told her they were officially in a relationship Molly was genuinely happy for them, but lying in her queen sized bed alone in the darkness a single tear rolled down her face. 

∞ 

Molly opened her eyes to find Sherlock gone. It wasn’t a surprise; he was quiet and could slip out of a room un-noticed anywhere. Molly left the morgue, walking up the stairs quietly. Molly waved goodbye to nurse at the front desk, Shelly, and walked out into the cloudy mid-November day. 

John was sitting in the kitchen making tea when Sherlock got home. Sherlock came up and stood beside John for a moment, looking at the top of his sandy hair. John lifted his chin and Sherlock shuddered. He loved the way John looked at him with such love. Sherlock could always feel the love cascading over him, it was warm and bright. Sherlock plopped down onto Johns lap and nestled into him. “Hi.” 

“Hello darling,” John said love filling his voice. “How was Bart’s?” 

“If decomp started at 9:57 then that means the body at the last scene couldn’t have been part of the murder spree from this week,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck. “Did you see Molly?” 

“Yes, she said Happy Anniversary and wanted to know what we did special yesterday. She had been there all night watching my body.” 

“She’s a good friend.” 

“Uh huh,” John could feel Sherlock’s smile against his skin, and kissed the top of his dark head. 

“Sherlock, I wanted to talk to you about something. This was it, John had been thinking about how to ask Sherlock. The more John thought about it, the more he recognized the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to be a father. He wanted toys lying about the flat, laughter in the air. John could imagine Sherlock with their little boy at the kitchen table doing experiments, John himself watching them from the couch a smile on his face. 

“Uh, how do you feel about children?” John asked, his voice wavering slightly. He lifted his head at the same time as his husband. Sherlock looked at him; John could tell he was confused; he didn’t understand why John would be asking him such a silly question. “I mean . . . well . . . I’ve always wanted to . . . be a father. I just didn’t know how you would feel about it.” John gazed at Sherlock nervously. 

Sherlock was stunned. He had no idea where this confession of wanting kids had come from, and honestly didn’t know how to answer the question. Sherlock normally didn’t like children. They always seemed like dirty menaces, breaking things and putting dangerous items in their mouths. His expression must have given away his thoughts because John immediately took back his words. Stuttering over them trying to apologize for something Sherlock could see he had spent a lot of thought on and apparently really wanted. 

“ _John, John . . ._ ” he heard himself saying over Johns strained apologies, “I am not fond of children, in fact I have never thought about having one. But if having a child is something you want . . . then I will raise one with you" Sherlock's thoughts wandered to a child who favored John and watching a toddler chase John around the flat. Sherlock grinned at the thought. John was staring at him. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes glossy. 

“Are you serious?” 

“John you have been with me long enough to know that I do not joke about things of such serious nature.” One tear spilled over the edge of Johns brown eye. A smile radiated from his sun worn face. He wrapped Sherlock in an embrace, kissing him between hugs and “I love you’s.”


	3. Thinly Striped Fabric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about babies.

No stars filled the night sky and clouds covered the moon, the bedroom of 221B Bakers Street was immersed in darkness. Fingers found themselves wandering through dark curls, tugging gently. Hot breath forced chill bumps out on fair skin. Echoes of smiles lingered on two pairs of pink lips. Blankets piled on top of intertwined bodies. Eyes blinked in the blackness, contemplating the future. 

“John,” a low whisper came from the right. 

An answering grunt came from the shadows of the left side of the bed. Sherlock curled closer into the warmth radiating from John’s body. John, of course, wiggled to fit his legs between Sherlock’s lengthy ones, edging as close as he could. Sherlock’s chin rested on the top of his husbands head. He could feel the tickle of John’s eyelashes when he blinked. He laced their fingers together. 

“We need to talk about this child matter,” Sherlock said into John’s hair. John began removing himself from Sherlock’s entanglement. Sherlock immediately drew him back in close. 

“I am sorry if I misunderstood, but I thought you said you enjoyed the idea of raising a child with me,” the hurt in John’s voice was clear. 

Sherlock eased back enough to see the outline of John’s face in the dark. A cloud rolled away from the moon, allowing light to seep quietly in the room. John’s expression was revealed and Sherlock’s gut twisted knowing he was the reason the beautiful face was so contorted with emotions. “John Watson, if you believe for one second that having a child with you isn’t something I want than you are mistaken. Yes, I am a bit taken aback by the sudden wish, and though a bit nervous, I trust I will gain the knowledge necessary to being a parent. When I said we need to talk about the matter, I meant we need to decide how we want to get this child, because there are multiple options in obtaining one. Since it had been a week and you had not mentioned it I thought I would chance bringing it up.” 

Sherlock was right as usual. John had not uttered a syllable about wanting a child since their talk about it a week earlier. He had not wanted to chance it, fearing that Sherlock had only been consenting for John’s behalf. John closed his eyes, relief flooding his body. 

“Adoption is the first option which comes to mind,” John said, pressing his nose into Sherlock’s neck, “but I would love to raise our child from an infant, which is difficult to find in adoption.” _Oh God_ , John thought, _our child_. He was going to raise a child with Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock’s pink lips twisted up at the edges, a smirk in his blue eyes. “Adoption would be lovely, raising a strangers unwanted spawn. What a perfect idea John.” John rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, but he saw Sherlock’s point. He wanted a child that would be his and Sherlock’s. 

“Other options are a surrogate, or one of us having sex with a female who is up for it.” John chuckled at the thought of Sherlock trying to fertilize a woman. John had been Sherlock’s first, which would make sex with anyone else awkward and uncomfortable. Sherlock nudged him in the stomach. 

“Stop that laughing, this is a serious matter. Neither of us will be having sexual relations with women. Anyways, I want our child to be ours, and only ours.” 

“Well then,” John said staring into Sherlock’s endless blue eyes, “it looks as if we will be getting ourselves a surrogate.” 

“John, were you listening? I want our DNA in that child, only ours.” Sherlock frowned at his husband, pouting to get the full effect. 

“Mycroft,” John reminded Sherlock, “your brother is one of the most powerful men in the British Government. Surely he could do something, after all he has access to Baskerville and who knows what else.” John’s voice was tired, it had been a long day and it was late. “Let’s call him in the morning love. Have him come over and talk about this.” 

Sherlock yawned, “Dreadful, I can’t stand to have Mycroft over, you know that John. Why would you suggest such a thing?” 

Shaking his head John rolled away from Sherlock. “You are the most ridiculous man I ever met.” 

“Fine,” Sherlock said. 

∞ 

John’s left hand caressed the back of his neck in a tired rub. His bare feet were silent on the floor as he walked into the kitchen, stepping around experiments to the stove to make a cup of tea. His blue pajama bottoms dragged the floor lightly as he busied himself with finding the newspaper. 

“Good morning John.” John jumped at the voice from the stairwell. He turned his head eyeballing Mycroft Holmes from his spot in his armchair. Mycroft was a tall man. He was thin, but pudgy in certain places. Sherlock often poked fun at his brothers fluctuating weight. Mycroft’s lips were pressed into a thin, wiry smile as he strode into the flat. John gestured to the chair across from himself. Thinly striped fabric wrinkled ever so slightly as Mycroft took his seat. He ran his hands over the tops of his thighs smoothing out the wrinkles almost as soon as they appeared. 

“Good morning Mycroft. I was fixing to call you.” John smiled at his guest, neatly folding his newspaper and setting it on his lap. 

“I am aware. I am afraid my brother has beaten you to it. I received a text last night at a frightful hour telling me to come over the moment I had awoken. I assume something important has happened, otherwise he would not have asked me over.” Mycroft crossed his legs. 

“Oh. In that case would you like a cup of tea while we are waiting on Sherlock to wake up?” 

“No need John, I am awake.” Sherlock waltzed into the room wearing nothing but a white bed sheet. He promptly kissed John on the lips, nodded at his brother, and stepped into the kitchen. His brown curls were tousled from sleep, but his eyes were bright with excitement. “We want to have a baby.” He stated to his brother. 

Mycroft didn’t even blink. “In that case you are going to need a surrogate. I can provide one for you or you can choose someone you trust. You will need to decide whose sperm you will use.” 

Sherlock stared at Mycroft as if he had just said he could never deduce again. “I am positive you can use both of our DNA to create this baby. We will provide a surrogate and the sperm you will need.” 

It was John’s turn to stare in disbelief. “Who is going to be our surrogate? You hardly trust anyone.” 

The two brothers ignored John. Mycroft stood up to leave. “I can make it happen, goodbye Sherlock, John.” He nodded curtly and swept out the door. 

“Sherlock,” John said, “Who the hell are we going to get as a surrogate?” 

“John, stop being an idiot for once and think. I would only allow someone we both trust to carry our child. There are only three women in our lives we both mildly trust. One being your sister who is obviously not healthy enough to carry a child and neither of us would trust her with it. Another is Sargent Donovan, I don’t trust her all that much as she calls me names and she wouldn’t do it in the first place. The third is Molly Hooper. Molly is the clear choice. She is a doctor, we both trust her with our lives, and she would do it in a heartbeat.” 

“Of course, why did I not think of Molly.” John grinned at Sherlock. He was beautiful; cloaked in a white sheet, the color of innocence and his hair the color of chocolate, curling in around his face, his full lips forming one of his rare beaming smiles. How in the world he got lucky enough to acquire the exquisite Sherlock Holmes as his own he would never know. 

“Call her.” Sherlock demanded. 

John hurried to the bedroom, yanked his phone off of its charger and was dialing Molly’s number before he returned to Sherlock. “Molly, hi, it’s John Watson. I was wondering if you could come by the flat sometime soon. . .” He moved the phone so Sherlock could hear what was being said on the other end. “Oh sure, do you need anything?” Molly said through the receiver. “We want to talk to you about something important. . . OK, see you then.” John hung up the cell phone. “She is going to come by when her shift ends in thirty minutes. I’m going to shower, be back shortly.” 

∞ 

Sherlock sat in his armchair. He held his violin in one hand the bow in the other and played a gentle tune. Sherlock was deep inside his mind palace, in a room he hardly ever allowed himself peek into. It was this “room” where he put his cares, his fears, and his fantasies. He only travelled inside on occasion, exceptionally rare occasions. All of his thoughts about John were placed inside. Unlike the rest of his mind palace John’s room was not neat and orderly, John’s “room” was chaos. 

Sherlock pulled memories of John to the forefront of his mind. The first time he met John. Mike Stamford introduced the two of them. When Mike brought John into the lab, Sherlock looked up and his heart beat quicker. It was a new feeling, strange. He wrote it off as excitement about a flat-mate. He knew now it had been love at first sight. John had let him use his phone no questions asked. He had also shot a man the next night, all because Sherlock was in danger. Seeing the blood spilt on the tile floor, and knowing John had killed for him let Sherlock know he loved John. He had thought his feelings unrequited, until six months ago. 

Sherlock had taken an interest in John he had never taken in anyone else. He didn’t know what it was about him, but something made him want to learn how his brain worked, he wanted to know what made him so different from everyone else. Sherlock had always kept distance between him and others, but with John he wanted to touch him, he wanted to be near him, and sometimes it scared him. 

One thing he loved endlessly about John was John’s ability to always have something interesting to say. Sherlock’s thoughts jumped to children. He counted the months up in his head. Nine months for a fetus to grow, he assumed it would only take Mycroft a month or two to have a cell ready, conception should take place in January, meaning that. . . 

“We should have a baby by October of next year.” Sherlock looked up at John as he walked into the room. John was wearing his favorite blue robe. To Sherlock he looked almost innocent. John stepped closer to Sherlock, running his fingers in Sherlock’s curls. 

“I counted that out while I was in the shower love.” John planted a kiss to the crown of Sherlock’s head and plopped down into his lap. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, his bed sheet falling around his waist. He took a deep breath, inhaling John’s scent, memorizing it, tracing his lips along John’s jaw line. “Darling, Molly will be here any minute now, we should get dressed.” John heaved himself away from the flawless man beside him. 

“Or. . .” Sherlock suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at John. 

“Molly’s visit _is_ slightly important, don’t you think?” John said walking into the bedroom. His right foot hit the bedroom floor he dropped his blue robe to the floor, looked over his shoulder and winked at his husband. Sherlock was on his feet and in the bedroom within two seconds shutting the door behind him. 

∞ 

John was sitting in his armchair fully dressed finishing his tea when Molly walked in. She smiled at him before glancing around the flat for Sherlock. John knew Molly still had a crush on Sherlock, although she would never act on it, and especially not now that he was married. Molly’s roving eyes landed on Sherlock, he was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, clutching the armchair pillow in his hands. He was still wrapped in his bed sheet. 

“Hello,” Molly said. She stepped over Sherlock to sit in his chair where John motioned. 

Sherlock stood up abruptly. “We want to have a baby.” Molly glanced at John looking to him for clarification, surely they hadn’t asked her here just to tell her that. Sherlock leaned against the fireplace, he drew his sheet closer to him, covering his almost exposed privates. “Molly Hooper,” Sherlock spoke softly when he addressed her, and John saw him flash her one of his irresistible smiles, “John and I want you to be our surrogate mother.” 

Molly was speechless. Her petite hands fluttered about not knowing where to put themselves, eventually they decided to wrap up in each other and settle in her lap. Her brown eyes widened with surprise. Her delicate face went through a variety of emotions. Astonishment, confusion, fright, delight, and right back to confusion. Sherlock answered her next question as her lips parted to release the words. 

“Mycroft is assisting with all of the details. We will hardly be bothered with them.” 

Poor Molly looked both John and Sherlock over, trying to ascertain if they were serious. “I – I don’t know what to say. I mean, of course, I would do anything for you, but how will it work?” 

Sherlock began elaborately explaining all of the details to her (and John), “John, text Mycroft and tell him to have everything ready in two weeks. Molly,” Sherlock gave her that smile again, the one she would do anything for. “You are going to be pregnant in two weeks.” 

Molly left the flat two hours later, everything had been worked out. She was going to be pregnant. Oh God, what would she tell her mother? _Oh by the way mummy, I’m pregnant, but it’s not mine. I’m a surrogate for my two gay friends because I’m in love with one of them_. Ha. Yeah, that would work out well. Her mother was already disappointed with her, thirty years old, unmarried, and no children. Molly skipped down the street. Oh well, she was going to be an aunt, and she was going to be close to Sherlock for the next ten months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really sure where I was going with this chapter, but I ended up liking it. It's so difficult to get my thoughts down just how I want them for this story. But feedback is good, so please tell me what you think, and if you see anything that needs to be fixed!


	4. Sunrise on the Horizon

Barts Hospital was alive with the sound of people dying. Doctors whisked about the corridors white lab coats trailing behind them. Nurses gave patients shots and medicines, keeping them alive one more day. Molly walked through all of the hustle and bustle and made her way to what she unofficially named “Sherlock’s Lab.” The boys were already in the room when Molly arrived. She smiled at them all, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Dr. Kevin Rush. 

“Hello boys.” Molly said. She could feel Sherlock deducing her as she took off her overcoat and leaned against the countertop. Molly remembered feeling self-conscious when he used to deduce things about her, now she only pulled at her brown braid over her shoulder and looked around. 

“Feeling nervous Molly?” Sherlock asked, “Don’t worry about a thing. Everything has been planned out for you . . . for us.” He smiled at her, a rare caring smile. His blue eyes cut to John, love pouring out of every pore in his body. 

“Enough.” Mycroft said to John and Sherlock, “You aren’t hormone infested adolescents.” He did not hide the disgust on his face. Mycroft looked at Molly, “We have no reason to assume you will become pregnant on the first try, so do not be disappointed.” Mycroft stared at Molly. His face gentled as she fidgeted under his sharp gaze. 

“Let’s go make a baby.” Molly said, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. She was the last person to leave the room, as Molly closed the door Sherlock and John turned to her. Arms suddenly wrapped around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. 

“Thank you . . .” John whispered into her ear. “Thank you so much Molly Hooper.” 

∞ 

Molly Hooper stared down at the white object in her hands. It had been a month since Doctor Rush had inserted Sherlock and John’s sperm and she had just taken her first pregnancy test. So far she had been too scared to take one, afraid she might let people down. Afraid she might let herself down. Many women in her family had not been able to conceive children, the few who did had miscarriages and sickly children. Molly had been a sickly baby, but luckily had grown into a strong young woman, but she was still fearful. 

This afternoon she hurried past a drugstore near her flat, trying to keep out the prying fingers of icy air that tried to seep into her body. After passing it she made her decision, she was going to be brave. Molly turned around and marched into the shop. She bought her first pregnancy test and ran home, pushing against the sharp wind. She fumbled with her keys, trying to find the correct one to enter her building. Molly’s heart was beating rapidly, she found she was excited, a smile plastered to her pale face. Tearing at the package she fled to the toilet. Wrenching her khakis off she squatted over the toilet. 

Molly stared at the tiny white object which would tell her future. Two pink lines appeared on the stick and Molly dropped it, clinking to the floor. She sank onto the white tile, the cold of it causing goose bumps to rise on her bare arse and the back of her thighs. Molly stood, rubbing the palms of her hands down her legs to warm them. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Molly beamed. She gazed at her abdomen; her hands cupped it gently. She was going to have a baby. 

∞ 

White knuckles rapped on the door of 221B. Come on, open up. Molly thought. She was frozen, Sherlock’s bell was still broken from when he had shot it, and the front door was locked. Stupidly she had forgotten her phone at home in her excitement about her pregnancy. She pulled her coat tighter around her body, looking around to see any of the three tenants. Molly shivered, giving up for the day. It was January and she was not risking her health to tell the boys about their child. 

“Oh dear,” a voice said from behind, unmistakably Mrs Hudson, “Molly, darling, how long have you been standing here? I only stepped out for a moment to go grab some milk from the shop for the boys. They’re in the middle of a case and will not stop for anything. You know how they are.” Mrs Hudson babbled on. Molly took the milk from Mrs Hudson insisting on taking it up. Mrs Hudson continued to talk following Molly up the stairs and into the flat. 

Molly looked around for Sherlock; he was nowhere to be found. John, as always, was sitting in her armchair typing away. He looked up at the two women and smiled. 

“Hello, Molly, Mrs Hudson.” He stood up to help take the milk from Molly. “Thank you for getting this Mrs Hudson, we were in need of some.” 

“I saw you were out, and decided to get you some since you were so busy. How is the case going?” 

“It’s over now. Sherlock remembered he saw a piece of thread in the victims’ hair that matched the sweater of a man he had seen walking away from the crime scene after it was found. Sherlock text Lestrade where to find him, and went to meet him. That’s where he is at the moment actually. He should be home within the next few minutes if you want to wait.” John said. 

Mrs Hudson announced she was going to make some celebratory tea and biscuits for the three of them while they waited for Sherlock. Molly went to help her. Molly felt the need inside of her chest to tell someone about the baby, but she knew it would be horribly unfair for her to tell John without Sherlock there also. 

She and Mrs Hudson made tea and biscuits quickly and proceeded back upstairs. Sherlock was back and laying on the couch when they came in. Mrs Hudson poured tea for everyone and sat on the edge of John’s chair. Sherlock looked expectantly at Molly. A pale blush crept onto her cheeks. 

“Well.” He said expectantly. The others turned their attention to her as well at the sound of Sherlock’s resonating voice. 

Molly let her delight flow from her body; her smile like the sunrise on the oceans horizon. “You are going to be parents!” The news escaped her thin lips echoing around the flat. John stumbled his way to Sherlock grabbing his husband and pulling him close. A cry of joy escaping his lips. Mrs Hudson clapped with joy; she was going to have a grandchild. Sherlock’s blue eyes widened, he had not been expecting this. Tears quickly brimmed in his eyes. He nuzzled into John’s neck not wanting anyone to see the emotion on his face. 

Mrs Hudson grabbed Molly’s hand, “You are going to have to come over more often dear.” She said wrinkles crowding her eyes as she smiled. Molly reached for Sherlock’s hand, clutching it tightly; Mrs Hudson took John’s at the same moment. John glanced around at their little makeshift family. It was not perfect by anyone’s standards, but to him it was the best he could ever ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot longer to put together than I imagined, but I hope you enjoy. Comments are appreciated.


	5. Triangles and Circles

Sherlock stared at the people crowded in his flat. He was miserable, and uncomfortable, and sticky from the heat that was rising rapidly. Sherlock didn’t know why they had to have a party. John had told him it was a gender revealing party to let their friends and Molly’s family know what the baby would be. He still didn’t know why they had to have a party. Couldn’t they just send out notecards that told the gender? 

The lanky man pouted in his chair, his knees pulled up to his chest, long arms wrapping around them for security. The only reason he was even at this party was for John, plus Molly refused to tell either him or John what gender it was. She wanted it to be a surprise. Almost everyone there was a mutual friend of the soon to be parents. The ones he didn’t know were Molly’s family, he began to deduce them. 

“Hello there grumpy.” John said as he sat on the edge of Sherlock’s chair. A shiver ran down his spine when John began to rub his back lightly. 

Sherlock grunted in response. John knew he was upset. “Come on love, I’ll introduce you to some of Molly’s family and you can deduce for them, they all want to hear it. Apparently Molly has been bragging about you.” 

Sherlock perked up a tiny bit at this. John knew he liked showing off for people. Slowly he unravelled himself from himself and stood beside John. 

John stood and led the way to Mrs Hooper, Molly’s mother. She was an older woman, Sherlock guessed late fifties. She was a natural blonde, although she died her hair brown about three weeks ago. Molly had been her only child, and her husband had passed away soon after Molly’s birth. 

One by one John introduced Sherlock to Molly’s family, deduction after deduction, and praise after praise, and Sherlock began to liven up. John and Molly even convinced him to play a song on the violin for them. The tiny flat was buzzing with excitement. 

Molly tapped her champagne glass with a spoon, grabbing the attention of the party guests. “I want to thank everyone for coming to support us today. I know this isn’t really conventional, but then again if you are here, you are used to unconventional around Sherlock and John.” Molly said, earning a chuckle and an _Amen_ from Greg Lestrade. A blush cascaded over her cheeks. “Well, I guess it’s time to get to the reason we all came, to know the gender of the baby.” 

Mrs Hudson walked out of the kitchen holding a cake. It was iced professionally, white icing with no hint as to what flavour might be underneath the sugary coating. She set it down beside Molly, who was standing in the middle of the flat next to the table that had been set up for refreshments. Light glinted off of the silver knife Molly picked up. 

“Sherlock.” She said, “John, will you come over here? You are going to cut the first piece together.” Silently, but with beaming faces the two stepped to be the center of attention. Molly presented the sharp knife to them. 

Taking hold of the end with his left hand John held out what was left to his husband. Sherlock gently wrapped his long fingers around John’s hand. Slowly they slid the knife into the circular cake. Creating a triangular piece they could slide out with ease. 

Pink. 

The inside of the cake was pink. How fitting, considering their first date was all about pink. 

John dropped the cake onto the table and pressed his arms around his husband. 

They were going to have a baby girl.


End file.
